Dear Kennedy,
Happy Valentine's day. This playlist is just for you. There may or may not be a song or two of my own, so don't let anyone else listen to it, alright? For your ears only. If I hear anyone walking down the halls singing, 'Kennedy, your love is my remedy' we're going to have a very serious talk, alright?
Angelo.
Dear Kenn,
Who goes to summer camp, seriously? Oh, right. YOU. Even if you're seventeen years old and have an amazing boyfriend who I'm sure you would much rather be spending your time with? Dealing with my dad complaining about Evan while my mom cries about Evan is exhausting and I can't even go hide at your place. But, you know, I'm sure you're having a blast tying knots and swimming, or whatever the hell you're doing. Crafts, maybe? Bring me back a fancy vase and I'll be yours forever. Though that was already the case. Double yours? We'll go with that. I can't believe I'm writing a letter, anyways. Who does that? This proves how much I miss you, and how badly I'm searching for something to distract me. Hurry back. Love you.
Angel.
Kenn,
Sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to act like that, you just surprised me. It was a little far, you know? It has nothing to do with you. I love you. I hope you like the flowers. Please stop ignoring me? I love you.
Angel.
Kenn,
Another summer camp, and, really, you haven't missed much so far. My mom keeps complaining that I'm not leaving the house enough, and she didn't appreciate me telling her to shove it, either, so I'm pretty fucked. Joke's on her for grounding me, like I care? Anyway, how are you? Are you having fun? I know you got all pouty last time because I didn't send that many, but I'll try to pick them up this year. I'm even working on a new song. It's not that good, but it's something, I think. It's better than nothing, and it's about you. Which automatically makes it better than any other songs I have. I'll send the lyrics when I get it finished, promise. I love you.
Angel.
Kenn,
Happy anniversary. I know you're upset I have to spend another hour at the school to help Jamie out, but I can't just let him fail, you know? He’s my friend. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I love you.
Angel.
-
Since you ripped up my last note - sorry, again. I'll tell Jamie I can't help him ever again, if that's what you want?
Angel.
Kenn,
Had to leave and didn't want to wake you up. My mom called me crying and I really need to go home. I'm so, so, sorry. I can't leave her alone with my dad like that. He doesn't know how to actually deal with her. I'm sorry. I know, I suck. I love you.
Angel.
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She asked me for help on a fucking math question. Stop glaring at me like that. You and I both know damn well she wouldn’t go for me, anyways. Puuuuhlease.
Kenn,
I can’t believe it’s only been a week and you’re already fucking accusing me of doing shit. Yes, I fucking know my place. Yes, I know you’re the best I’m gonna get. You don’t have to keep fucking telling me. The one who should be worried here is me. You think I like knowing you’re off to college and I can’t spend any time with you? I already asked my mom and she still said no to giving me money, so I have to work more hours at the music shop on top of going to fucking school. I’m sorry I haven’t been sending anything, Kenn, I really am but I just haven’t had the damn time. I’m working hard for you. I need you to trust that. If there’s one good thing about me, it’s that I’m not a liar. You told me that. So believe it.
Angel.
Dear Kenn,
My therapist says that writing you a fake letter will somehow help things. I don’t see what this does other than make me feel pathetic. Is this seriously what I have to come to? My mental state is so low that writing fucking fake letters might somehow improve me to some extent? I don’t even know what the fuck to say to you. All that comes to mind is wanting to ask for my grey hoodie back and telling you not to wash it. I guess I miss you, and I’m not supposed to. But why am I not supposed to? He keeps throwing fucking stupid words like manipulation at me, but that seems much more dramatic than it needs to be. I’m fine. Sure, we had our lows. Maybe senior year wouldn’t have been so lonely if I had a friend, or you. I always needed you, but then you stopped texting and calling me and ignored my stupid letters. You’d ignore this one, too, I’m sure.
Mostly I just want to know why you stopped talking to me. What did I say that was the final straw? You know I would have changed fucking anything to make you happy. So what did I need to change? I can still change it if you stopped fucking ignoring me.
This is stupid and a waste of time and money.
Angelo Fraser.
Dear Kennedy,
Three years later, and I’m still writing to you. The only difference now is there’s no hope between the lines. This is fucking it. There’s so many obvious questions I could ask. Why me, why did you do it, what did you get from it, etc., but I feel like I could easily answer those myself. I believed everything you said. I loved you and I would have done anything to make you fucking happy. I still wish I heard your voice more than in stupid fucking whispers every time I look in a mirror. I can’t get your words out of my head, and there’s no damn way I’m falling into the trap of taking medicine that takes me from feeling horrible to feeling nothing. So I’m left being a pathetic asshole. Was that your plan all along? Fuck me up to the point of no return? Because, wow, congratulations! You did it! You want a trophy? World’s Best Girlfriend.
The saddest thing about it all is I still can’t find it in me to hate you. As much as I want to, the biggest part of me wants to thank you, and I know that if I saw you again I’d be happy. How does that make any sense? My head’s so messed up I don’t understand it most the time. But, damn, you really got me. I’ve failed following my dreams and I live in a shitty apartment alone, and I’m content with that. I wish I never met you, but I’m not angry that I did. I don’t know what else to say.
Angelo.
